


Here Comes the Sun

by TheNightComesDown



Series: Dearest Deacon [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Birth, F/M, Medical, Mild Blood, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17517872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: When John goes out of town for the day, your baby decides to make its grand entrance into the world - and Roger doesn't know what the hell to do.





	Here Comes the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> As requested by AO3 user rogue2115 - "one shot...going into labor with only Roger there and him having to step up". Hope you enjoy!
> 
> TW: Mention of blood, organs, surgery, etc. in relation to birth. Please avoid if you are upset by this kind of thing - that being said, I wouldn't describe it as particularly graphic.

The paramedic clambered into the back of the ambulance, pulling the heavy door shut behind him. He slapped a hand against the wall and the vehicle started moving. Roger was seated beside you, his legs awkwardly folded up against the side of your stretcher. His face was pale, and his hands were shaking in his lap.

“Sir, would you mind budging up, please?” the paramedic asked. “I need some space to access my equipment.” Roger slid to the end of the bench, allowing the paramedic to climb over him. A blood pressure cuff was applied to your arm, and a thermometer was placed under your tongue. 

“Ma’am, can I put your husband down as your emergency contact?” the paramedic asked, gesturing toward Roger. 

“I’m not her husband,” Roger snapped. 

“Roger,” you scolded, “Settle down. He’s just trying to do his job.” Roger nodded, and held a hand out to you, attempting to be supportive. You grabbed his hand and squeezed. This appeared to have a calming effect, because Roger took a deep breath and responded politely to the paramedic. 

“Her husband is out of town for the day,” he tried again, “so I need to call him right away when we get to the hospital.” The paramedic nodded, scribbling notes onto the clipboard he held. You clenched your teeth and squeezed Roger’s hand tightly as another contraction began. 

“Rog, I can’t do this without John,” you said as your eyes filled with tears. “I’m not ready for this yet.” 

“We’ll just take it one step at a time,” Roger said, gritting his teeth. 

* * * 

Earlier that week, a winter storm had blown along the Welsh coastline, where your sweet little cottage was located. John had been worried, but you’d reassured him that it would all be fine. For the most part, you were right. The worst of the storm had bypassed the village. However, driving conditions had been abysmal, resulting in an accident that had knocked power out for the entire village. Your neighbours had all been running their woodstoves to keep warm, but your cottage, being unoccupied, had no way of maintaining a decent temperature. 

“I’m worried the pipes will freeze,” John had said after a neighbour called with news of the outage. “Once the baby comes, we’re going to be out there for nearly a month, and we need to have running water.” He had paced the sitting room for nearly an hour, trying to decide how best to rectify the situation. The solution he decided on was that he would drive out on Thursday to check on the electrical situation, and light the stove. 

“John, you can’t go out there by yourself,” you had insisted. “What if something happened to you?” He had protested, but eventually, you’d convinced him to ask someone to tag along for safety’s sake. 

“Alright, I’ll ask Brian,” he had agreed. “We’ll only be out for one overnight, so there’s really no need to worry.” You had been having very mild contractions every now and again for a month – just Braxton-Hicks, to prepare your body for labour, your doctor had assured you. No matter how many times someone (always a man) told you not to worry about giving birth, you continued to worry. But John had been sure that he wouldn’t be gone long, and that all would be well when he returned. 

He and Brian had left early in the morning, and at that time, nothing had been out of the ordinary. You had risen early, as was typical for you. You did the laundry, ironed John’s shirts, and did a few other menial tasks around the house. It wasn’t until you showered that everything started to go downhill. 

When Roger heard that John and Brian were going out to the cottage for the day, he had felt a bit left out. He and John had been spending a lot of time together in recent months, and although he didn’t want to admit it, he was a bit offended that John hadn’t asked him to go. In an attempt to get over it, Roger had called you and asked if you’d go Christmas shopping with him. The girlfriend who had attended your birthday party with him was still around, and he couldn’t think of what to get her. You had asked him to pick you up for noon, but you were running a bit behind schedule. By the time you jumped into the shower, it was nearly 11:50. 

Roger had knocked on the front door several times, but after no one answered, he let himself in. He heard the water running, so he settled in on the sofa to wait for you. As he picked up the remote to turn the TV on, you screamed upstairs. Startled, he dropped the remote on the floor and dashed upstairs. 

“Y/N”? he called, knocking on the bathroom door. “Hey, is everything alright in there?” 

“Roger, something’s wrong,” you said, shivering as you sat on the edge of the tub. You had wrapped your bathrobe around yourself, but hadn’t moved any further. Your head was cloudy with pain, and you didn’t know what to do. 

“Y/N, unlock the door,” he urged, jiggling the handle. He heard a metallic click as you turned the lock, and he pushed the door open gently. “What’s wrong?” 

“I think we need to go to the hospital,” you groaned, your teeth chattering. Roger bent down in front of you. “It hurts so bad.” 

“What happened?” he asked again, putting a hand on your knee. As he looked at the floor, he noticed a line of red dripping down your leg. “Y/N, why are you bleeding?” Roger slid his orange prescription sunglasses down over his eyes, taking a closer look at you. 

“I bent down to pull the bath plug,” you explained, “but something…ripped.” You reached down and shifted your bathrobe aside, exposing a blood-soaked towel you had shoved between your legs. 

“Oh my god,” Roger breathed. “Is that normal?” You shook your head, and tears started to well up in your eyes. 

“I think something’s wrong with the baby, Rog.” 

“Y/N, I think I should call 999,” he gulped, reaching for your hand. “That’s a lot of blood, and I think we need help. Okay?” 

“Okay,” you nodded, gritting your teeth in pain. Roger raced to your bedroom to use the telephone. As a squeezing pressure continued to build in your abdomen, you realized that maybe the ‘Braxton-Hicks’ you’d been feeling were real contractions. After a few minutes had passed, you heard Roger’s footsteps down the hall. 

“Ambulance will only be a few minutes,” he reassured you. “The operator told me to ask you some questions, just in case…” he trailed off, looking at you nervously. 

“In case I pass out?” you suggested. “That’s fair.” 

“Oh, and I left a message on the phone at the cottage,” Roger said. “John and Brian should be there soon.” A crushing sadness swept over you as you realized that John wouldn’t be waiting for you at the hospital. 

“Roger, what if I lose the baby, and John’s not here?” you asked, suddenly gasping for breath as you thought about the possibility. You started to slip off the edge of the tub, but Roger grabbed your shoulders, guiding you gently to the floor. 

“I’ve got you, Y/N,” he said, seating himself behind you. He stretched his legs out on either side of you, allowing you to lean back against his chest. “You’re not going to lose the baby, okay? Help is coming.” You pulled your legs against your stomach as best you could, but the pain in your back was becoming excruciating. 

“What hurts?” Rog asked, feeling the muscles in your back become tense as you leaned against him. 

“My back,” you moaned, “and I think I’m having real contractions now.” He nodded awkwardly, not sure what to do with the information. 

“Okay, I’ll make sure we tell the paramedics,” he shrugged, hoping it was the right thing to say. “Any time now.” He glanced at his watch, seeing that it was a few minutes after 12:00. A knock came from downstairs, followed by the creak of the front door. The sound of a radio voice over walkie-talkie filled the front entrance. 

“Up here!” Roger yelled, “She’s upstairs!” Heavy footsteps clunked against the stairs, and a man in uniform appeared at the door a moment later. 

“Hi there,” he said gently, bending down to your eye level. “I’m Dan from London Ambulance Service,” he introduced himself, “and I heard you’re having some bleeding and pain. Are you alright if I take a look?” You nodded shakily as you extended your legs before you. Dan pulled your robe aside to peek at the towel. Roger looked up at the ceiling in an attempt to give you a bit of privacy. Dan’s partner and several firefighters stood at the bathroom door, viewing the scene. 

“Alright,” Dan said, patting your ankle as he pulled your robe back over your legs, “let’s get this lovely lady on a stretcher. Doc will want to take a look at you and baby.” You nodded, and Roger put his hands on your shoulders, squeezing them gently. Dan smiled up at you, but his eyebrows knit together as he looked closely at Roger. 

“Why are you wearing sunglasses insi— hey, aren’t you that guy from Queen?” 

* * * 

When you had arrived at the hospital, your stretcher was brought straight into a room. The doctor was in within 5 minutes to examine you. A machine was wheeled in, which allowed him to scan your abdomen. 

“This tool uses sound to let me see your baby,” he explained. “It’s a new technology that we’ve only just started using in the last 5 years.” You watched the screen, and audibly gasped when the image of a head appeared on the screen. 

“Here’s your baby,” the doctor said, smiling. Roger stood beside you, still grasping your hand. 

“You can see its nose and everything,” Roger frowned, peering at the screen. “No shit, hey?” The doctor looked up at him, his expression mildly amused. 

“Mrs. Deacon,” he said, moving the probe across your stomach, “I believe you’re experiencing something called placental abruption.” You nodded uncertainly, looking up at Roger. “The placenta is an organ that connects your baby to your body; it’s how baby gets nutrients and gets rid of waste while it’s developing.” 

“So there’s something wrong with the…placenta?” Roger squinted, trying to figure out which part on the screen the doctor was talking about. 

“Yes, Mr. Deacon—” the doctor started, but Roger interrupted. 

“I’m not her husband,” he corrected, “just moral support.” You smiled for the first time since this had all started. A nurse had started an IV in your hand when you arrived, filling you with drugs to dull the pain (and making it possible for you to smile). 

“Roger is my husband’s best friend,” you explained, “but my husband had to go out of town this morning, and Roger had just come by when this all happened.” The doctor nodded slowly, wondering whether to believe your explanation or not. 

“Anyways,” he continued, “to answer your question, yes, I believe that the placenta has detached from the wall of your uterus too soon, which is what is causing the bleeding and pain, Mrs. Deacon.” He opened his briefcase on his lap and pulled out a diagram, illustrating the issue for both you and Roger. 

“So…what do we do now?” you inquired. “Is the baby…” 

“I would recommend an immediate Caesarean section,” the doctor recommended. “This condition is dangerous for both you and your baby, and the sooner we get him out of there, the less chance there is that permanent damage will be done.” You nodded, trying to take this information in. 

“Him?” Roger asked. “How do you know it’s a boy?” 

“Well, that’s something we can see using this ultrasound,” the doctor smiled. “See, right here, you can see…” he moved the probe on your stomach. “There’s a stem on this apple!” Roger’s mouth fell open as he watched the screen. 

“Would you look at that, Y/N?” Roger pointed, “He’s got Deacy’s cock, hasn’t he?” After seeing the look of shock on the doctor’s face, you burst into giggles. Your head had been feeling a bit foggy since the nurse had started your IV, but now you couldn’t stop giggling. 

“Is she alright?” Roger asked, looking to the doctor with concern. 

“It’s likely a result of her medication,” he replied. “But sir, we do need to make a decision about this surgery, sooner rather than later.” 

“Can it wait until her husband gets here?” Roger wondered, glancing at his watch. It had been nearly an hour since he had walked through the door of the Deacons’ house. 

“I’m afraid not,” the doctor sighed. “If we wait too long, the baby could die from a lack of oxygen.” This sobered you up quickly; the giggling came to a halt. 

“I want to do it,” you said, addressing the doctor. “I want the baby to be safe.” 

“Ma’am,” the doctor hesitated, “…you’ve had some strong pain medication, and I’m concerned that you might not be in the right state to make such a decision. There are considerable risks with the procedure.” 

“Well, who the hell’s going to make it if she can’t, and John’s not here?” Roger asked, throwing his hands in the air. The doctor stared at him for nearly half a minute before it clicked in Roger’s head. 

“Oh, no no no,” he said, holding his hand out, “slow down. I’m not—I can’t make that decision.” Roger looked down at you, tucked into the hospital bed. “Y/N, what do we do? Do we call your parents?” 

“They’re in Derby, Roger,” you sighed, shaking your head. “They’d never make it here in time.” Roger released your hand and sat down in the chair beside your bed. 

“So, you want me to decide whether you’re going to have a…what did you say it was, Doc?” 

“A Caesarean section.” 

“Yeah, that,” Roger said, shaking his head, “or not. Is there another option?” 

“I deliver normally, the baby dies, and I maybe bleed to death,” you explained. “Really not ideal.” Roger looked up at the doctor, who had shoved his hands into the pocket of his white coat. 

“The major risks with the surgery are bleeding and infection,” he offered. “But I’ve done hundreds of these procedures, and in this situation, I would truly recommend this option over opting for a vaginal delivery.” Roger met your eyes and leaned forward in the chair. 

“Doctor, could we have a minute alone to discuss the options?” 

“I’ll be outside when you’ve decided,” he replied, stepping out of the room. Roger stood up and walked to your bedside. He had pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, which kept his shaggy, blonde mane out of his face. 

“I’m not the right person to ask about this, Y/N,” he said honestly. “I know the doctor said you’re too high to decide or something, but I trust you to make the right choice for your body, and your baby.” Roger brushed your hair from your forehead gently, as he used to do for his own sister when she was little. 

“I think we should let the doctor do the surgery,” you decided after a moment. “I want the baby to have the best chance possible.” Roger nodded. This is what he had hoped you would say. “Would you tell the doctor for me?” 

“Of course,” he replied, stepping into the hall to confer with the physician. A moment later, they returned, and the doctor had Roger sign some forms. 

“I’ll go have the operating room prepared, and we’ll have this done in two shakes,” the doctor assured you with a smile. He explained the procedure, and when he had finished, a nurse came in to get you into a hospital gown. Roger left the room and sat in a chair in the hall until you were ready. Before they wheeled you down to the operating theatre, Roger leaned down and planted a kiss on your forehead. 

“It’ll be alright, Y/N,” he promised, giving your hand a tight squeeze. “When you wake up, you’ll have a beautiful little boy waiting for you, just you wait.” The nurse allowed Roger to walk with you as far as the lift, before directing him to the surgery waiting room on the main floor of the hospital. 

* * * 

Roger had closed his eyes for only a moment, or so he thought, went someone shook him awake. 

“Roger, wake up,” John urged him. “Roger, where’s Y/N?” Roger’s eyes opened wide, and he flinched back in his seat as he realized how close John’s face was to his. 

“She’s…she’s in surgery,” Roger mumbled, blinking hard. “She’s having a…one of those surgeries where they take the baby out.” 

“A surgery?” John bellowed. “What the hell happened? I thought you were going Christmas shopping!” 

“Didn’t you get my message?” Roger demanded, staring blearily at John. 

“What message? We turned around halfway because the weather was absolute rubbish, and there was a fire engine in the drive when we pulled up.” John’s face had gone red, and Roger hadn’t seen him so worked up since the time he thought he’d lost Y/N’s engagement ring on the train. Brian, who had been standing to the side, stepped in. 

“All we know is what the firemen were able to tell us,” he explained, “which is that Y/N was brought here after an incident at home.” Roger was fully awake now, and he sprung up from his seat. 

“Alright, here’s what’s happened…” 

* * * 

John, Roger and Brian squeezed themselves onto a short sofa in the waiting room and sat silently until the physician came to give an update a half hour later. Recognizing Roger, the doctor removed his mask and approached the sofa. 

“So, the surgery was a success,” he said to Roger, who immediately cut him off. 

“This is John, Y/N’s husband,” he introduced, “so please, speak to him.” 

“Alright then,” the doctor continued, “Your wife is in stable condition, and has delivered a beautiful, healthy baby boy.” John breathed a sigh of relief, and Brian clapped him on the back. “I’ll have a nurse bring you up to the recovery room, where your wife is waiting for you.” 

“And the baby?” Roger asked, “Can we see him?” The doctor pointed down the hall. “You can go have a look through the big window, but they’ll bring the baby up in just a few minutes.” John and Brian followed the nurse to the lift, but Roger stayed behind. 

“I’ll meet you upstairs,” he called after them. He walked down the hall the doctor had indicated, and sure enough, a large window allowed passers-by to peek into the nursery. Several rows of cots held infants swaddled up in receiving blankets, each with a tag on the end of the cot bearing their name. Roger craned his neck, searching for the cot marked “DEACON”, which he spotted in the front row. A tiny baby, whose head was capped in blue cloth, wiggled its arms around in the cot. 

“Have you got a little fella in there?” a woman’s voice asked. Roger glanced up to see a slim, dark-haired woman standing beside him. 

“Uhh, no,” he said, tilting his head to the side, “A friend of mine has, though.” 

“Ahh,” she smiled, “I see. Do you like children?” Roger frowned slightly at the question; he’d never considered whether or not he liked children. 

“I suppose I do,” he shrugged. “That one there is my nephew, of sorts, and I’m sure I’ll like him.” He pulled his glasses from the top of his head and slid them on, tinting his view orange. 

“Sunglasses indoors?” the woman raised an eyebrow. “An interesting fashion choice.” Her smile was bright, and her fringe cut across her forehead, giving her face a lovely frame. Roger’s mouth turned up at one corner as he stared at the woman; she was gorgeous, he thought, and her French accent gave her an air of mystery. 

“I’m Roger,” he said, extending a hand. “And I’m blind as a bat, but I prefer sunglasses to regular specs.” 

“Dominique,” she replied, grasping his hand firmly. “Orange suits you, I think.” 

* * * 

When Roger arrived upstairs, John was standing beside Y/N’s bedside. His forehead was pressed against hers, and they spoke quietly to each other. 

“Thought it best not to interrupt,” Brian said, leaning against the doorway. 

“John’s been beside himself.” Roger nodded, crossing his arms. 

“I’m sure this isn’t how they imagined it would happen.” 

“You can say that again,” John agreed, walking up behind them. “She’s alright, but I think she’s still in a bit of shock.” He stood between them, watching a nurse bustle about as if she were an ant in an anthill. “Roger, I…” he trailed off, looking at Roger uncertainly. “I don’t know what to say…” 

“Christ, Deac,” Roger exclaimed, “What else was I supposed to do? Leave her to bleed to death on the bathroom floor?” He shook his head and tucked his thumbs into his trouser pockets. “I did what anyone else would have done in my situation. 

“But you weren’t,” John said softly. “You were there, and I wasn’t. You called for help, you elected for the surgery, and you were there to hold her hand.” 

“Now, it wasn’t like that,” Roger said sharply, “I only held her hand because she asked—” 

“For God’s sake, Roger,” Brian burst out, “he’s not accusing you of sleeping with her, he’s trying to say thank you.” Roger looked at John sheepishly. John held a hand out, but Roger stepped forward and pulled him into a hug. 

“It’s not your fault,” Roger said, holding John tightly. “It could have happened at any time, the doctor said.” John nodded against his shoulder, but after a moment, he began to shake. John wept against Roger’s shoulder, overcome by the enormity of the situation. Roger glanced at Brian over John’s shoulder, looking for help, but Brian just shrugged – what can one do when their friend is hurting, other than be there to love them? 

“Hello, darlings,” announced a voice down the corridor, “I’ve come to see this miniature John Deacon that’s come into the world. Where is he?” John released Roger and looked down the hall. Freddie stood beside the nursing station, carrying a bundle of balloons the size of Y/N’s hospital room. “And where shall I put these?” 

* * * 

“Oh, he’s perfect,” you cooed, touching the toes of you newborn baby as John cradled him in his arms. “John, look, he’s got 10 little toenails.” You touched your son’s nose, and traced a finger lightly across his brow. 

“Look at his hair,” John exclaimed. “Just like yours, eh?” From the moment the nurse had wheeled the cot into your room, John hadn’t been able to take his eyes off the baby. His eyes had filled with tears when he picked him up for the first time, and he looked close to tears each time he showed the baby to someone new. 

“He’s a bit wrinkly, isn’t he?” Roger had asked hesitantly. “Is that normal?” The nurse had just laughed. 

“He’s perfect, is what he is,” you declared. “Even if he is a bit wrinkly like an elephant, or an old man.” Brian watched from afar, seeming a bit uncomfortable with the situation. 

“Do you want to hold him, Bri?” you asked, smiling at him. “He doesn’t bite…yet.” 

“Eh…not yet,” Brian declined politely. “I’m afraid that if I hold a baby and like it too much, Christine will get pregnant before we actually want a baby." John laughed aloud at Brian’s comment, and you had giggled once, but stopped yourself when it pulled at the sutures in your incision. 

“Well,” Freddie asked, arranging his balloons in the corner of the room, “have you chosen a name for him?” You looked up at your husband, and he nodded encouragingly. 

“We have, actually,” you nodded. “We’re going to call him Henry, after John’s father…” you paused, glancing across the room, “and Roger, after the hero of the day himself.” Roger’s eyes went wide. 

“Are you serious?” he asked hesitantly. “He’s got to have that name forever, mind you.” John carried the baby over to Roger and gently placed the swaddled bundle into his arms. 

“We’re pleased to introduce you to Henry Roger Deacon,” John smiled, patting Roger’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll make a fine uncle, Rog.” 

“I’ll not call him anything but ‘Little Deacy Darling’,” Freddie proclaimed, kissing your cheek. You tried to smile up at him, but you were exhausted. Thankful that your dearest friends were with you as support, you closed your eyes and tried to get a bit of rest. 

“He looks like a Henry, don’t you think?” John asked Roger. “Take a good look, you’ll see what I mean." Roger leaned in closer to the baby, peering through the lenses of his glasses. As he got his face right up to the baby, the stench of dirty diaper wafted into his nose. He jerked his head back and held Henry out toward his father. 

“I don’t know whether he looks like a Henry,” he said, handing the baby off, “but he certainly smells like a John.”


End file.
